Empty Heart
by Ark2012
Summary: Being a Slytherin while the Dark Lord reigns comes with expectations for whom you should support. But Ormod Shafiq just can't care less for politics. In his opinion, He has a whole plateau of problems that should be dealt with first. But politics do tend to catch up with you, and Ormod would eventually have to pledge his allegiances...To Voldemort, or the Resistance? Slight AU.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I only own the OC

Author's Note: So this is my first HP fanfic, and all you guys need to know right now is that it happens concurrently with the 7th book. Hopefully it won't disappoint... Please R&R!

* * *

My joints crackled and popped as I leaned into the horizontal split. I grimaced slightly at the increasing pain of my tendons being stretched, and pressed even further. Suddenly a wide pair of hands grasped my shoulders and pressed further, causing me to gasp in pain as my legs flared up in pain. As my focused wavered, my legs trembled and my knees started to buckle.

"Stay upright!" The voice of my father commanded in my ears. Snarling to myself, I strained my legs, forcing my knees to straighten once more. The hands remained on my shoulders, keeping my legs stretched as I regained my balance. After a few minutes of silent suffering, the pain in my legs started dying down as I became more acclimated to the stretch. The hands left my shoulders, allowing me to stand up straight once more. I sighed in relief as my legs relaxed, straightening up.

My father, Rector Shafiq, walked into my line of sight. A man in his late 40's, silver strands dotted my father's raven black hair as they flowed at his shoulders. He was wearing a black tunic with matching pants, a wooden dagger strapped onto his belt and his wand holstered in his right arm. I was wearing the same assortment of equipment, with a crimson tunic instead. It was the standard combat gear for the Shafiq family.

"That would be enough for the flexibility exercise, son." Father paced around me. "We will move on to combat exercise for today. Answer me, from what do you determine a wizard's combat prowess?"

"How strong he is when he is weakest." I answered.

"And when is a wizard at his weakest?"

"When the foe is within the range of his wand hand."

"And what else?" A slight edge entered my father's voice as it came from behind me. My eyes widened at the tiniest of tells. Taking a swift step forward diagonally, I spun around with wooden dagger in hand. The dark shape of my father bore down upon me, wooden dagger raised high.

 _*clack*_

The dagger in my hand shook violently as I barely deflected my father's dagger strike. Angling the dagger slightly, I took a step forward to meet my father's forward momentum, pointing the tip of the dagger at his approaching neck. Father's free arm swept upwards, and I glimpsed his ebony wand grasped within his hands.

" _Protego._ " An invisible wall of force erupted between the two of us, pushing me back. Releasing the dagger hilt with my left hand, I grasped the hilt of my wand and drew it out of its holster, flourishing it in the general direction of my father.

" _Incendio_!" A stream of fire burst out of the tip of my wand, reaching my father just as the shield charm's effects dissipated. My father's face, illuminated by the orange glow of the flames, broke into a fierce grin right before he disappeared behind the roaring inferno. A second later, the stream of fire split into several streams, flowing wildly in the courtyard. As I grit my teeth and increased the intensity of the flames, I heard the door to the manor creak open before the voice of Molny, my mother's house elf, squeaked out in the courtyard.

"Young master Ormod, the mistress would like you to take care with your flames. She has spent considerable time tending to those rose bushes." A hint of amusement entered into Molny's voice, "And if they were to be damaged in any ways by your flames, you mother would, as I quote: 'flay you alive with the bluntest and rustiest epee she could find in the estate.'" My father's laugh rang out from behind the wall of flames, as I rolled my eyes.

"Tell mother that if she cared about her roses so much she should have placed wards around them!" I grumbled back at Molny. The elf smiled in amusement.

"Should I tell her that you said that?"

"What do you think?" I snapped irritably, "Tell mother that her rosebushes would not be harmed." Still smiling, Molny gave a small bow before returning to the house. I flicked my wand and cut off the flow of flames, revealing the figure of my father, who was standing in the middle of the courtyard and smiling like nothing happened. The only sign that he had literally undergone a trial by fire was the fact that now crimson runes glowed along the blade of his wooden dagger.

"Yes Ormod, the second instance when a wizard is at his weakest is when he is surprised. I'm happy that you have managed enough physical training to circumvent this weakness, to a degree. However, next time for the counter-attack I would choose some other spell than _incendio_. While your timing was impeccable, the slow nature of the flames allowed me to react and slice through the spell with my dagger." Father raised his wooden dagger, displaying the glowing runes along the enchanted wooden blade. "A faster spell like the stunning charm or full-body bind curse would have a higher rate of success. While most of your opponents would not have an enchanted dagger like we Shafiq's do, some of them would have a secondary defensive tool. I know for a fact that the wizards from the Malfoy family tend to be fond of carrying around walking sticks enchanted with the shield charm."

I bowed slightly, repressing a sigh. This was an age old feedback, yet there wasn't much to be done about it.

Rexus opened his mouth to continue speaking, before closing it again as another one of the house elves approached. The elf bowed slightly before speaking.

"Master, Runcorn has dropped by and requests an audience with you." Father's brows furrowed slightly at the name.

"Where is he now?"

"Walter is keeping him company in the visiting room. Shall we tell him that you are out on business?" For a moment, Father seemed tempted by the idea, before shaking his head.

"No, for him to come he must know that I'm here. Appearances must be upheld. Tell him that I will be with him in a spell, and tell Zackry and Joory that we require their services." The elf bowed slightly before leaving. Father turned to face me. "Now Ormod, training is over. Go change out of that sweaty tunic and put on something more presentable. We've got guests to entertain. And for Merlin's sake look more alive. You look like a dead man walking."

I nodded and headed to my room, leaving my Father in his thoughts. Father was never pleased with those extremists, but the proper image must be upheld as one of the Sacred Twenty-eight, or else we'll fall from grace, just like the Weasleys. Granted most of the Weasleys seem to be in a happier state than I am, but poverty stuck to their family like a disease. Better be subtle and play along with the other pure-blooded families, rather than uphold ideals like a fool. Honor doesn't fill bellies.

By the time I got to my room, Joory, my personal house elf, was already waiting for me. I sighed slightly before raising my arms to allow Joory to unstrap the holsters and belt buckles before removing my tunic. The tiny elf had to use a small ladder to reach up that high. Stretching my sore arms, I walked over to a basin that was filled with steaming water as Joory deposited my tunic into the laundry basket.

"You know Joory, sometimes I wonder why I do this at all." I murmured as I started scrubbing myself off with a wash towel. "Days like these I can hardly get myself up and going at all."

"Nonsense, young master Ormod. I saw you on the training field with your father, you were splendid!" Joory squeaked while fussing around my bedroom. "Nobody achieves that amount of proficiency without putting their hearts into it!"

"Unless they have no idea how to place their hearts in it. Combat training gets my heart pumping and blood flowing, so it's a pleasant change for once. But that's around it, Joory. There really isn't much passion in it for me."

"Really?" Joory's squeaky voice came out from somewhere within my wardrobe. "Have you ever thought of picking up a hobby then? Perhaps the piano, or free range griffon riding? I'm even sure that your father would permit you to hunt in the grounds as well, if you were so inclined…"

"Eh, maybe, maybe not. It's not really a lack of hobbies, Joory. It's a general lack of interest." I started applying soap. "I just can't seem to summon the passion to do things. Sure I can do them, and I can excel at some of them, but it's just that I can't get around to enjoying them"

"Well, life isn't just about your own actions, master Ormod. Perhaps you can also derive joy from supporting or being supported by others?" The house elf had pulled out a tangle of clothes and was sorting through it. "Regardless of what you end up choosing, Master Ormod, do remember that you have your family and all of us house elves under the Shafiq family to support your actions."

"I suppose you're right. However, even with you keeping me company it's hard to feel alive. Doesn't help that school starts soon. The atmosphere in Slytherin house has been almost unbearable as the Dark Lord grew in power. Would it kill them to not be so smug?" As I finished rinsing myself off, I received a towel from Joory and dried myself out. "I guess that this is just my life now. Hopefully there is a remedy for my condition to be found."

"Oh have some faith, young master Ormod. You are an exceptional potions brewer for your age, and a top student to boot. I'm sure you'll come up with a permanent cure eventually."

"Perhaps. But it still boggles the mind how little effort wizard kind has placed into research into these… oh what do the muggles call them again?" I paused for a bit in concentration, before the name I was looking for popped into my mind. "Ah yes. Mental disorders. It still boggles my mind how wizards have disregarded this area of study for so long, even when their own members suffer from these maladies." Joory hummed as he fussed around in my wardrobe.

"Well, I'm sure that when faced with so many magical maladies that can claim your life and sanity in a span of seconds, slow acting mundane disorders such as the one you're suffering from would take the back seat." I shrugged wearily.

"Alright then. What would you suggest me wear for today Joory? Father is entertaining a guest, and I am expected to join them." Joory nodded and scuttled over to hand me a wand holster made of boiled leather, with engraved serpent patterns lining the sides. Quickly strapping the holster onto my right arm, I looked back as Joory presented me with a black velvet robe with ruby and emerald colored threads artfully embroidered along the seams. I lifted my arms and Joory slid the robes onto my shoulders, and then proceeded to fasten a pair of emerald cuff links on the cuffs of the robes. A protective amulet with the Shafiq family crest, a shield with a dagger crossed in front, engraved upon it went around my neck, while a dagger with an ivory handle and an enchanted iron blade hung on the right side of my belt. Joory then stepped back as I walked towards the large mirror in my room to examine myself.

"A wonderful job as usual Joory. I'm sure that eventually you'll make me forget how to choose my own clothes." Joory clapped happily at my praise. "And Joory, how is the potion doing?"

"The _elixir_ is doing just fine, young master." Joory scurried off for a minute before returning with a goblet full of sunshine-yellow potion. "It is named the elixir of euphoria, is it not? Since it has a proper name, you might as well use it."

"I suppose so." Reaching out, I received the goblet from Joory and downed the elixir in one go. I immediately felt my face flush and my heartbeat speed up, as well as a slight lightness that permeated through my entire body. However, the promised euphoria never arrived. Frowning slightly, I looked back down at the goblet. "Are you sure you grabbed this out of the right cauldron, Joory?"

"Of course, young master. Is something wrong? From just physical appearances it seems to be working just fine. You look cheered up already!"

"Is that so?" I murmured before placing the goblet down. "Never mind then. I will look into my formulas more closely later on. Father is waiting, so this would have to do for now." Joory nodded solemnly and ushered me out of my room, closing my door behind me. I took a deep breath and lifted my head high. Time to greet the guests.

* * *

I met my father at the doors leading to the visitor's room. He was wearing a cloak of emerald, with silver and ruby embroidering along the seams. Father greeted me with a curt nod before pushing the doors open. And apparently not a moment too soon.

"I'm sure he'll be down soon Mr. Runcorn. As you know Master Shafiq is a very busy man, so it might take a while for him to be ready to greet guests, especially unexpected ones." The voice of Walter, our head butler, was calm, but the subtle edge hidden in his tone shows that he is nearing the end of his patience.

"How much longer? I've had three cups of tea while sitting here twiddling my thumbs, and the fourth is about to go cold." The deep voice of Albert Runcorn rumbled.

"Then I suggest you drink your lukewarm tea and fret no longer." My father replied, causing both Walter and Runcorn to flinch. "For I am here to deal in whatever business you have of me, Runcorn." Walter hastened to bow, which my father waved away. Runcorn's face twisted into a grim smile at the sight of us.

"Rexus. It's been far too long since we last met. And I see that Ormod has grown into a fine young man. The Shafiq family's future seems bright." Father smiled slightly, before addressing Walter.

"Arrange for some refreshments Walter, and then leave us."

"Of course, Master." With a slight bow, Walter hurried out. After a while, an elf came in with a tray of tea and biscuits before leaving. With a sigh, Father sat down onto the master chair while I sank down into an armchair next to it.

"So Runcorn, what brings you to my estate at this time of the day? You are a man of purpose, and would hardly come visit just to exchange pleasantries." Father asked as he poured himself a cup of tea. I picked up a biscuit, ears perked for the conversation. Runcorn shifted slightly in his seat before replying.

"Rexus, word is that Scrimgeour hired your company as an extra aid for the Ministry." Runcorn rumbled deeply. "Quite a number as well." Father's brows furrowed.

"I can neither confirm nor deny it. I'm sure you understand. Would be bad for business." Father sipped at his tea as he replied carefully.

"Scrimgeour has been moving funds around, Shafiq. He's planning on making some vast investments, and given how the war is going on, it's not much of a leap of what he wants to spend the money on." Runcorn sipped his tea, "Yours is the only significant name within your business, so surely you would know something about this?"

"Runcorn, I had made it abundantly clear that it is not whether I know about it, but whether I would tell you about it." Father replied, an edge creeping into his voice. "The Shafiq family business would not have lasted as long if I went around telling everyone about my various clients. I'm sure you, and anyone you might represent, would understand this."

"Of course. But Rexus, would you not reconsider? These times would be remembered as a turning point in all of history. Best consider carefully, for the past may not provide decent guidance for what's happening in the present." Runcorn leaned forwards, eyes gleaming. "History is being written as we speak. Surely as the head of one of the Sacred Twenty-eight, you would understand what I'm proposing?" A long pause followed, while I carefully sipped at my tea. Deciding that it was too bland, I mixed in some cream and sugar.

"We Shafiqs never aspired to write how history goes. We are contractors, and thus in the long flow of history we serve only two masters: Ourselves, and the highest bidder." Father replied, his tone cautious. "Everyone who matters in the grand scheme of things would know that to gain the alliance of the Shafiqs, the clink of the gallon is heavier than any amount of rhetoric. Surely whoever you represent would have the necessary gold if they wanted a contract?" Runcorn narrowed his eyes as my father spoke. After a moment of drawn out silence, Runcorn emptied his cup and stood up.

"Well, I do thank you for the tea and hospitality, Rexus." Runcorn spoke as he slipped on his leather duster. "It has been a pleasant conversation, as always." Father stood up as well, ringing a bell to summon Walter. The butler arrived dutifully.

"Walter, please escort Mr. Runcorn out of the estate. Runcorn, you'd forgive me if I didn't accompany you." Walter bowed before turning around to lead Runcorn out of the estate. Runcorn lifted a hand in farewell as he left. As the door clicked shut, Father let out a long sigh as he leant back onto his seat. After a pause, he turned to me.

"Ormod, you understood what Runcorn was asking, right?" I remained silent as I contemplated the conversation that I just witnessed.

"He... wants to know whether we're providing Scrimgeour with extra dualists… And was also trying to invoke our position as one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight…" I thought for a moment. "You think that something is about to happen to the current status quo in the Ministry?" Father smiled at me for a second before becoming serious once more.

"Yes. Scrimgeour had approached me with a potential contract a while back, but nothing has been signed yet. He lacked the funds at the time, but promised that he would have at least half the total payment soon. In fact, he's supposed to drop by tomorrow night to finalize the agreement." Father pinched the bridge of his nose as he leant back, his brows furrowed tightly. "Runcorn's visit mean that information has leaked, since the contract was supposed to be classified, as Scrimgeour's ace in the hole, so to speak. However as thing are, I doubt he'll really be needing it. You do know who Runcorn was speaking for, correct?" I frowned. There was only one logical conclusion in the current situation.

"The Dark Lord."

"Yes, there really is only one possibility. After Dumbledore's death the Order of the Phoenix only has the Potter boy as a figure head, and he's far too inexperienced to wade into politics and warfare. Scrimgeour is as good as dead."

"And I don't suppose that you'll do anything about it, Father?"

"No, of course not. Scrimgeour never signed a contract, and the Shafiq family is too weak to withstand the Dark Lord's might. What is the Shafiq family motto again?"

" _Prudentia antequam glorificetur_ _._ " I recited. "Prudence before honor." Father nodded in approval.

"Yes, very good. Regimes raise and fall, and the reign of the Dark Lord would not be explicitly harmful for the Shafiq family if we can navigate it carefully. Our blood protects us, but only if we are prudent." My father stood up. "Now leave me. I have to consider how to navigate this political quagmire." I stood up as well and gave my father a slight bow.

"If you would want my company for any reason, I will be reading on the grounds." Father nodded as I left the room.

* * *

Walking through the grounds, I came upon my favorite tree on our family grounds. It was a pine tree, apparently the same one from which my wand came from. The sound of bowtruckles chattering calmed me as I settled down and leaned against the tree. Drawing my wand, I pointed it to the ground and swirled it in a small circle. Rune etchings appeared on the ground where my want was pointing.

" _Protego durabilis_." At my command, the etchings flared up with light before dimming down once more. The shimmering of the ward surrounded me in its protective embrace, and I smiled at the sense of security.

Then, I opened my copy of _Advance Potion-Making_ and unrolled a copy of my own formula for the elixir of euphoria. My brows furrowed as I tried to decipher potential errors in my method of brewing the potion. After all, it did not induce euphoria, and while I'm pretty sure that I have some form of mental disorder that is defined by the muggles, surely the art of magical potions making could not be stumped by a simple muggle malady…

After several hours of scribbling and rewriting, I dropped the textbook with a sigh of frustration. While I did undo a few calculation errors within my formula and rephrased the enchantments to be placed upon the materials, I sincerely doubt that any of that would change the nature of the potion significantly. It was almost as though my mind functioned differently from others, and is not as receptive to the effects of the potion as designed…

As I rested my head upon my chin, I noticed that the woods were oddly silent. Usually you could hear a bowtruckle or two, but not now. Moreover, the grounds were covered in an uncharacteristically thick mist, with my wards preventing them from entering my little circle. As I breathed, white fog was exhaled from my mouth.

And then I felt it.

The slight chill within my heart. The clamminess that creeped into my palms. The feeling that warmth was literally escaping my body. I gulped and steeled my nerves. This can't be it… I've felt this often enough, but the last time it was this bad was during my third year, when…

Almost as if responding to my thoughts, a dark silhouette drew closer through the mist, revealing a gliding, hooded figure. It reached out towards me with a hand that reeked with decay, and took a single rattling breath. The last of the warmth in my heart drained, as did the color in my face.

"Dementor."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I only own the OC.

* * *

"Dementor." I swore under my breath, fingers fumbling for my wand. What is a dementor doing on my family grounds? How does one even fend off a dementor? I remember Potter casting his patronus to repel the dementors during my third year, and also as an extra credit during the Defense Against Dark Arts OWLS (Goddam show-off), but I never mastered the spell myself. Never could have summoned the amount of happiness required to perform the spell.

The dementor took a rattling breath, and I felt air rush out of my lungs in a blast of mist as the coldness reached inside of me. The wards around me shimmered dangerously as the will to sustain them started to wane. The dementor reached out once more to my wards and pressed upon it, making the runes carved on the ground light up upon contact. A thin layer of mist started forming along the magical shield, lowering the temperature within my circle even more. I started shaking violently as I fumbled with my wand, having finally managed to pull it out of its holster. Pointing it at the dementor with shaking hands, and I opened my mouth for the incantation.

Nothing.

Closing my mouth and licking my lips, I tried again, reaching into myself for the source of magic that usually thrums in my blood. The desire to be alone that fuels all barrier enchantments. The unfocused resentment that powers all magical flames that consumes slowly. The dull sense of boredom that nevertheless provides the focus to inscribe powerful runes that vastly enhances the effects of all other magic. Nothing responded. Nothing was there for me to grasp on to.

The dementor pressed once more, and its rotten hand slowly sunk into the shield, as if it was stretching a sheet of rubber. The runes along my magic circle flared up even brighter, emitting sparks as they tried to keep the dementor out. But it was a losing effort. The dementor was, strictly speaking, a living being and the source of its own power. The magical circle's source of power, me, is currently unable to provide them with extra support, and thus the shield only has the meagre amount that I felt necessary to imbrue them with earlier, when my life wasn't in danger.

Sure enough, as the dementor closed its hand into a fist, the magical wall twisted among itself and flew apart. The lines of magic that embroidered the circle went off in tiny explosions, destroying the intricate circle of magic that used to adorn the ground. The light layer of ice that has formed around the wall of magic shattered with the sound of glass breaking, making me flinch violently with shock and fear.

Shock and fear. Yes, I can use that. I pointed my wand at the dementor, focusing the tiny bit of emotion that I could, and snarled: " _Incendio!_ "

A stream of fire shot out of the tip of my wand, engulfing the dementor within its fiery embrace. Screeching loudly, the dementor raised its arms up in a defensive stance, and started backing up slowly. I allowed myself a grim smile.

"Yeah you better start running, you slimy half-rotten piece of sh-" The dementor took another rattling breath and the following coldness stopped me midsentence. The stream of flames spluttered a bit and continued, albeit significantly weaker than before. I grit my teeth and attempted to focus my will, and the stream of fire intensified slightly.

The dementor took another rattling breath, and the stream of fire extinguished. I fell back against the tree, my wand dropping out of my numb fingers. Mist flowed over my breath as I huddled into myself, shivering.

The dementor surveyed itself, as if checking the damage done to its charred robes. Apparently satisfied with its current state, it started hovering closer to me. Its hood was lowered, revealing a decayed humanoid head with empty eye sockets and a gaping mouth.

A pair of clammy hands grabs the collars of my robes and pulls me up, and I feeel cold jaws clamp onto mine. An icy feeling sank down into my stomach as I felt my soul, the center of my very being, budge and start to move towards my mouth.

So this is how it ends then? Ormod Shafiq, of the Shafiq line, heir to one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, dying here from a single dementor attack? Is that what fate decreed, what the seers saw in the stars on the day I was born? Well, I'll say to fate…

Screw you. If I were to die, I would drag the world down to hell with me. _I! Will! Not! Die! Alone!_

As I thought that, a strong surge of defiance welled up within me. It was not happiness, nor hope. It was sheer anger born of despair, and thus the dementor cannot even touch it. Shaking my head, I tried to break the dementor's kiss, yet the dementor held on with an unearthly grasp. So I did the second best thing that came to mind.

I bit the dementor. Ichor, cold as glacier melt and thick as blood, flowed into my mouth as my teeth sank into the decaying flesh on the dementor's jaw. The dementor screeched loudly and slammed me heavily against the pine tree, making me lose my grip on the dementor's jaw. I felt pain like daggers of ice piecing into me as the dementor's ichor flowed down my throat. Lifting me once more, the dementor slams me against the tree once more before rearing its head in preparation to initiate the kiss once again.

My fingers brushed against a hilt along my belt, and instinct kicked in. Grasping onto the hilt, I pulled the enchanted dagger from its sheath and point it towards the demento's face just as it rushed in for the kill. The dementor let out a painful screech as the knife plunged into its mouth.

While the dementor was struggling, I grasped the amulet around my neck tightly with my free hand, feeling the jagged edges of the Shafiq family crest cutting into my palm and drawing blood. The act of spilling blood has always had magical significance, since blood was the best magical conduit before wands were invented, with the blood from a pure-blooded wizard having the best effects. As the blood from my palm soaked the surface of the amulet, I felt a surge of energy rise up within me, a well of power that lay deep inside of me where the dementor can never reach.

" _Protego Maximus Shafiq_ " I murmured to the amulet, channeling the newly found surge of energy towards the amulet. I felt the slick blood in my palm rapidly dry as the magic surged through it and into the amulet. As I exhaled, I released the magic that was building up within amulet. A solid wall of magic erupted from the amulet and sent the dementor, now with a scarred face, flying away from me, providing a circle of safety around me.

The dementor halted its momentum, and rushed at the shield once more, sending ripples along the magical barrier as the dementor collided against it, but the barrier stood strong. Outside of the barrier, the dementor hissed angrily and struck at the magical barrier a few more times, but was unable to touch me. The circle of protection, erected by the Shafiq family amulet that has received a tribute of pure magical blood, was not something that was within the dementor's power to breach. And it was just as well, for I was no longer able to fight it off.

I collapsed down to my hands and knees, weak from my ordeal. It felt as though a chunk of ice has dropped into my stomach and was swiftly freezing the rest of my innards as well. As the coldness reached my throat, I heaved but nothing was coming out. I clenched my hand around the bleeding wound on my palm, confirming that I still had a pulse, but it was so cold… frankly I expected my own blood to start freezing up eventually.

After the coldness came a sense of hollowness worse then everything else I've ever experienced. It was not hunger, thirst, or even any form of carnal desire. No, it just emptiness that I don't recognize, a void that I don't know what to fill it with or how. Despite feeling cold as winter, sweat beaded my brows, and my hands felt damp and clammy.

Outside of the protective circle, the dementor was still hissing angrily. Suddenly, a loud piercing screech broke through the surrounding mist, causing the dementor to look around. Somehow, on an instinctive level, I recognized the screech as a summoning order for the dementor. As the dementor turned back to look at me, I allowed myself a pained smile. The dementor hissed again, black ichor dripping down its ravaged face as it contorted in anger.

" _Next time….."_ A raspy voice hissed. The scarred dementor retreated back into the mist, and disappeared. I exhaled in relief before falling down, the ground meeting me gently.

"Joory…" I muttered, hearing the loud _*crack*_ that signaled the house elf's arrival right before I lost consciousness.

* * *

When I recovered consciousness, I was in my own bed and wrapped from head to toe with blankets. Joory's massive head was rested at my bedside, slightly drooping as he dozed off. I started to sit up, and Joory woke up with start.

"Young master Ormod! I'm so happy that you're awake!" Joory sprang to his feet and squeaked. "Here, let me fetch you some pepper-up potion and then alert the master that you are awake!" As Joory scuttled around, I groaned and sat upright.

"What happened after I lost consciousness, Joory?"

"The question is what happened before?" Joory squeaked while scuttling towards me with a goblet full of crimson liquid. I received it from him with a nod of thanks before drinking a mouthful of the fiery liquid. As it burned down, I coughed and spluttered as steam started wafting out of each of my facial orifices. "After young master summoned me, I found you lying on the ground within a protective circle, so I brought you back to the manor! Master Rexus and Mistress Susan have been very worried about you, oh yes they have! What happened to you?"

"Can't… talk…" I choked out, eyes still watering from the potion. "Does… Father… know…?"

"Oh yes, oh yes he does!" Joory nodded. "I've already told Walter that you've woken up. Master Rexus and Mistress Susan would be here soon." I nodded in approval. Rather not tell the same story twice.

After a few minutes, the doors to my room flew open, and my mother rushed in. Susan Shafiq is a woman of medium height and light brown hair that was tied in a neat bun. Her eyes, usually sharp with a tint of amusement, were now filled with concern as she rushed to my bedside and embraced me tightly. My father followed shortly after, his face stoic but his eyes showing concern.

"Mother… I… can't… breathe…" I wheezed out within my mother's tight embrace. Mother immediately released me, allowing me to inhale in relief. Instead, she started checking me up and down for injuries. "For Merlin's sake, Ormod, when Joory brought you back I thought you were dead! What happened to you? Where were you? What-"

"Let the boy talk, Susan." Father placed a hand on Mother's shoulder. "We've taught him all his life not to speak out of turn, which means that as parents we need to give him the time to talk." Mother took in a shuddering breath before nodding and standing back. Father redirected his gaze towards me.

"Now tell me what happened to you out there, my son." I nodded dutifully, but I could feel the cold lump starting to form in my stomach as I thought back.

"It was… a dementor attack. A lone dementor that somehow got onto our grounds." Mother looked as if she was about to interrupt, but a glance from Father silenced her. I was grateful for that, since I wasn't sure if I could continue with the story if I was interrupted. "I was on the grounds at my wand tree, reading and studying. I was also a fool, since I didn't notice anything amiss until the grounds were flooded with fog."

"Then the dementor appeared. It sapped my will and broke my protective circle with relative ease, since I was incapable of the patronus charm, and then…" I shivered slightly as I remembered the rattling breath of the dementor as it approached for the kill. "…and then it attempted the Kiss. Or so I presume." Mother's hands went up to her face as she gasped, and even Father looked alarmed at it. I managed a stained smile at my parents.

"Relax, since obviously my soul is still in my body. Somehow I managed to gather enough willpower to throw it off me, and I triggered the family amulet to protect me. Apparently it worked, since the dementor was unable to break through the barrier. And then afterwards, I heard a screech from the distance, and the dementor seemed to respond to it as a summoning order. Either way, it disappeared back into the mist after the screech." Finishing my story, I took another sip of the pepper-up potion, only to break down into violent coughs as the liquid burned my throat once more.

"A dementor? What is a dementor doing on our grounds?" Mother whispered in horror. Father cleared his throat.

"I believe I can answer that. I've just received a message from one of my friends working in the ministry. As of a few hours ago, the minister's office announced that Rufus Scrimgeour has resigned and went into seclusion for health reasons, while Pius Thicknesse has taken up the office as acting minister." Father paused for a second before continuing. "And of course, nobody with any amount of intellect believes that Scrimgeour resigned. More likely there was a coup in the Ministry and Scrimgeour has been assassinated. Doesn't take much to guess who was behind it." A silence fell over us, as oppressive as the identity of the wizard who we all know ordered the coup.

"But, what does that have to do with the dementor that attacked Ormod?" Mother asked. "The ministry is quite far from our estate."

"Well, it's not the coup itself, but the trappings that surround it." Father drew out a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ from his robes and threw it onto the bed. The headlines read _Multiple Dementor Attacks throughout England; Several Victims of the Kiss Admitted to St. Mungo's._ "I'm pretty sure that this would be the last issue of the _Prophet_ where it isn't just pure blood propaganda. Anyways these dementor attacks are almost certainly distractions from the actual coup that was happening within the ministry. And one of them is not far from here. The dementor that attacked Ormod might be a straggler from the attack force."

"But why would they attack so close to the Shafiq family grounds? They know that dementors might stray away!" Mother whispered. "I thought the Dark Lord valued the pure-blood families." Father grimaced.

"That might be because I refused Runcorn's offer to give him information on Scrimgeour... The Dark Lord might have ordered that attack as a warning." Mother gasped.

"You refused a request from the Dark Lord…? Oh Rexus, I know that you have your values, but now is not the time for that kind of neutrality! Look at what happened to Ormod! Can't you just swallow your pride for once, for your family?"

"I still to think on this Susan. While nobody can openly defy the Dark Lord, openly pledging alliances to him like the Malfoys and the Lestranges may prove equally problematic." Father's brows furrowed as he concentrated. "The Dark Lord demands a lot from his followers, and the Shafiqs might not be able to afford all his demands in the long run…" The room fell silent as we all thought about the potential implications of joining the ranks of the Dark Lord.

"No, I don't believe that joining ranks with the Death Eaters would be in any way beneficial in the long run, but defying them would be madness." Father spoke slowly. "I would have to think closely about this, but first we should let Ormod rest and recover his strength." Mother nodded and embraced me warmly.

"Ormod, listen to your father and get some rest. You'll be up and running again in time to start your last year at Hogwarts." As she released me, Mother turned around to face Joory. "Joory, fetch your young master some chocolate to deal with the after effects of the dementor attack." Joory bowed deeply and scuttled off. As I lay down in my bed, Mother tucked me in as Father stroked my head, his eyes betraying concern. Then they left, leaving me alone in my room. I heard Joory returning, placing a tray full of chocolate on my bedside table before scuttling off once more.

I curled up under the covers, and took a shuddering breath. My hands went up to my throat, where it still ached where the dementor's ichor had stained when it slid down my throat. I reached to my bedside and grabbed a piece of chocolate, plopping it into my mouth and chewing it quickly, sighing in relief as the pain in my throat was soothed by a flow of warmth that came from the chocolate. However, there was still a persistent feeling of hollowness deep down where the warmth cannot reach. Might just be some side-effects that would go away with time, I thought as I curled up even further. Just maybe, it'll go away with a good night's sleep.

* * *

A few weeks have passed uneventfully as I slowly recovered the dementor attack. From what the family doctor said, I was extremely lucky to have not been Kissed, but the movement of my soul still left its marks upon me, and I should rest. He also reassured me that I would make a full recovery, and sure enough I eventually regained all my physical capabilities.

However, the emptiness remains, a deep bottomless void that sat in my stomach. And with the emptiness came hunger, the mouth-watering cravings that I don't understand. And sometimes, when I narrow my eyes, I swear I can almost see the pulse of everyone in my vicinity, and feel the atmosphere. And my mouth waters every time.

I don't understand, but it can just be a phase. I sure hope it's a phase.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I only own the OC

Author's Note: I reposted this chapter cos was doing weird stuff with my story updates... here's hoping that this works...

* * *

I rechecked all the items in my trunk before slamming it shut and buckling it up with several thick leather bindings. Joory waited at a side dutifully, and as I nodded, the elf seized my luggage and diapparated with a loud _*crack*_. I walked down the stairs, and saw Joory working together with five other elves to place my luggage in the trunk of an old Volkswagen that has been with the Shafiq family for ages. The car honked angrily as my trunk was lowered into the back, and the doors popped open angrily. In a flash, Walter was at the front of the car, stroking the hood and calming the enchanted vehicle.

My parents were waiting for me at the door of the manor as I walked up to them. Mother smiled as Father walked forward to greet me.

"Ready for your last year at Hogwarts, my son?" I smiled slightly and shrugged.

"As ready as I could ever be when school is concerned." Mother laughed, while Father merely smiled a bit and clasped my back.

"Enjoy it son. Hogwarts was the place where your mother and I met, and I think we can both agree that our time there are among the best years of our lives." Father glanced back at Mother, who smiled and blushed slightly. "Don't let the change in leadership deter you from doing what you want. Your blood status should shield you from those who would otherwise seek to control you. Use it wisely." I paused upon Father's strange advice, but nodded nevertheless. Father smiled and gestured towards the car.

"Walter would drive you to King's Cross station, like usual. Have a safe journey!" Smiling, I embraced mother, and allowed Father to clasp me on the back once more before getting into the enchanted car. The old vehicle recognized me, and I could hear the engine purr happily as I got into the vehicle. Walter was sitting behind the wheel.

"Are you ready to leave, young master?" I nodded to Walter, and the car started up. Twisting around, I waved goodbye to my parents, who were rapidly shrinking into the background. Twisting back around, I let out a low sigh as I sat onto the seat.

"Everything alright, young master?" Walter asked as he effortlessly weaved through the traffic.

"Just the usual, Walter." Walter smiled at me understandingly through the rear-way mirror.

* * *

I got onto the Hogwarts Express smoothly, lifting my trunk onto one of the luggage racks. Shawn Morris, another Slytherin, nodded to me as I sat down. Morris and I didn't know each other that well, but there was a kind of solidarity between the Slytherin students who did not belong in Malfoy's little group of elitists. As I sat down and got comfortable, Morris pulled out a set of wizard's chess.

"Got a new set of ivory over the summer. Wanna help me break 'em in?" I smirked before pulling out my own set of pine.

"With pleasure." We started putting down the pieces, and Morris nodded towards the corner of the compartment, where a cluster of Slytherins sat. I made out the hulking figures of Crabbe and Goyle, along with the more wiry shapes of Nott and Rosier.

"It seems that the newest generation of Death Eaters are gathering together already." Morris whispered towards me, egging his pawn forward. I suppressed a slight chuckle.

"Well, it would hardly matter what they call themselves. If the current regime stays in power for over a year, its position would be stable enough that everyone would be Death Eaters. If not, well, they would find name of 'Death Eater' to be quite a bad taste…" I shared a brief chuckle with Morris as the pieces on the board moved in accordance to our wishes.

"You really think so? That this whole thing…" Morris gestured widely, indicating the whole situation. "Wouldn't last long?"

"I never said that." I responded carefully, as I egged one of my rooks forwards. "Every regime has a period of instability. Once the instability is over, it becomes extremely hard to overthrow. That is all."

"Well, sounds reasonable." Morris mumbled, pushing one of his bishops over to capture my pawn. "Anyways, we shouldn't be influenced much either- HEY!"

Morris's bishop had just tried to strike my pawn over the head with its scepter, only for the pawn to deflect the blow with his sword. Moving along with the momentum, the pawn struck the bishop's chin with the pommel of its sword, knocking the ivory piece flat on its back. Trying to stifle laughter, I poked the pawn on the top of its head.

"Hey. Play fair." The pawn looked back at me and gestured incredulously, pointing at the bishop and at itself and at me. I chuckled slightly. "I know you won the fight, but we're not playing war games now. Set the poor guy on his feet and get off the board."

The pawn waved its hands in several rude gestures before stomping over to the fallen bishop. The pine piece grabbed the arm of the bishop and heaved fruitlessly. After a few seconds of trying, it waves a hand and several other of my pawns run over and help him lift the bishop back on its feet. After that, the pawns returned to their places, leaving the ivory bishop standing there, dazed. The captured pawn scuttled off the board and squatted down. I looked apologetically at Morris.

"Sorry. Don't have a lot of people to play against normally, so I let the little buggers have free-for-all melees against each other. Seems that a few of them had developed some skills in the battlefield."

"To be honest, I'm not even mad. That does sound more fun than usual chess." Morris eyed his bishop warily as the ivory piece stood there looking punch-drunk. "You think he's good?" I shrugged and prodded another one of my pawns right into the bishop's line of fire.

"Why don't you try it out? I promised my pawn would be good, won't you?" I poked at the pawn, who did a mock salute. Morris rolled his eyes.

"Bishop to F5." Upon hearing Morris' command, the dizzy bishop took a few steps in the correct direction before flopping down face first. The captured pawn at the side rolled over, shaking with laughter as the fallen bishop struggled and failed to make its move. Morris' chess pieces were now all looking at each other nervously. Morris sighed. "Why do I have a sinking feeling that I'm gonna lose this match no matter what?" I chuckled.

"Yeah, most likely. Especially since my King is the one who always wins the melees." As I spoke, the King piece in my set cracked its knuckles threateningly while sitting atop its throne. The other pieces around it started edging away. Morris looked thoughtfully at the board.

"You know what? The melee idea sounds a lot more fun. Let's do that instead, only with my pieces in the fray as well." I smiled slightly.

"You know, it's a lot more fun if there's some terrain around. Let me-" My sentence was broken by a slight shriek two compartments over. I flinched, my hand brushing against the wand in my sleeve. "What was that?"

Morris shrugged, and a wave of sniggering came from Crabbe and Goyle's group. Nott raised his head up and stuck his tongue out to us, before explaining: "They're grabbing the little Mudbloods in the first year compartment. Brats expecting to come here and leech off our Professors and our magic? Serves them right." I frowned slightly as Nott turned back to his group, still snickering.

"What's wrong Ormod? Are you worried about these muggle-borns?" Morris inquired. I shook my head slightly.

"It'll be one thing if Hogwarts just didn't issue invitations to muggle-borns anymore, but to issue the invitation and then arrest the child on the Hogwarts Express… That doesn't sit so well with me." I lowered my voice to a whisper. "Too much malice, and directed at children who are too young."

"I see… don't worry about it then. There's nothing you can do at this point, and to be honest it would only help the Slytherin House." Morris reassured me, before looking back at the chessboard. "I guess you're not in the mood for a game anymore?"

"No." Morris nodded, and helped me pack up the pieces. We then sat in silence as the Death Eaters walked past our compartments with several young children tied up in a row following them. The sight of the muggle-born children tied up like cattle provoked jeering laughter from some Slytherins, but I looked away from the sight. One of the Death Eaters looked briefly into our compartment before leaving, seemingly satisfied that none of us was hiding muggle-borns or Harry Potter.

I spent the rest of the train ride in contemplative silence.

* * *

The opening feast was as fancy as ever, with the four great tables filled with different varieties of roast meat and gravy, topped with choices of chips, bread, and even various dishes of rice. Salad bowls and vegetable stew dotted the tables every few seats apart, allowing the students to cleanse their palettes between each dish, and fountains of pumpkin juice flowed freely on every table.

However, the atmosphere in the Great Hall was subdued, with many of the students conversing in hushed whispers. Glancing at the faculty table, it wasn't hard to tell why. At the center of the table, on the throne reserved for the Headmaster, sat Professor Snape. The _Prophet_ would have us all believe that Potter is the only major suspect in Dumbledore's death, but only a fool would believe anything the _Prophet_ says in this time and age. Before the fall of the Ministry, the official word on Dumbledore's death was that Snape was the one who dealt the killing blow, yet here he sits as the Headmaster of Hogwarts, overseeing the great hall with his pitch black eyes.

The faculty has also undergone some interesting changes. Amycus and Alecto Carrow now sit on the faculty table as well. Neither has ever had an official arrest record, but it doesn't take a genius to figure out that both were long-time supporters of the Dark Lord. In addition to that, there were numerous reports of both of them being in Hogwarts on the night Dumbledore died. On the far end of the table sat the gaunt figure of Walden Macnair, known Death Eater who was arrested, and escaped, quite recently. No doubt his criminal record has been scrubbed clean with the rise of the new regime. But still, it astounds me how much Dark Lord is placing his known followers in government employment, especially since he seems to enjoy lurking in the shadows so much.

But that's a moot point now. _Vae victus_. After the death of Dumbledore there is nobody who could stand up to the Dark Lord in a fair duel, even disregarding his followers. As it is right now, the man could do whatever he pleases, and so people can only whisper about his misdeeds. Judging from the hushed whispers that permeate the hall and the uneasy looks that are being exchanged by the older faculty members, it's clear that most people would agree on that point.

The Slytherin table was the only part of the Great Hall untouched by the chill of melancholy. The gangs of Death Eater spawns laughed and boasted at each other with glee, and the rest of us are also completely relaxed, secure in the knowledge that our blood status would protect us. I surveyed the Great Hall, with the entire hall quiet and subdued except for the boisterous Slytherin table. Out of the corner of my eyes, I noticed a shimmering aura that seems to be focused on the Slytherin table, and my mouth started watering. Odd, I thought I already had a triple helping of that lamb roast, so why do I still feel so… ravenous…?

"Hey, Ormod, you okay over there?" Morris, who was sitting next to me, broke me out of my trance. I blinked dumbly for a second before responding.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. I was just daydreaming. Why do you ask?"

"Well, you, uh…" Morris glanced around a bit before continuing. "You were kind of staring off into the distance with this spaced-out expression, and a kind of chill was coming off you…"

"Really?" I looked around at my surroundings, and sure enough, conversations were slightly more subdued in my section of the table. A chill went down my spine as I scrambled for an excuse. "Well, I'm sure it was kind of a coincidence…"

"Yeah, seems like the only reasonable explanation…" Morris agreed, although his expression tells that he wasn't convinced.

At that moment, Snape stood up and cleared his throat. All conversations died down in the Great Hall as people redirected their attention towards their new Headmaster. Snape waited for the Great Hall to fall silent, his cold expression betraying nothing.

"Welcome students, new and returning, to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry… A few announcements are in order in regards to changes in our current staff, and to the current education policies." Snape's hard voice rang through the Hall. "First, since I have been granted the position of Headmaster by our new Board of Governors, I will be withdrawing from my former position of Professor of Defense against the Dark Arts. This opening will be taken up by Professor Amycus Carrow." A brief splattering of applause, more out of courtesy and fear then any feeling of welcome, greeted this appointment. Carrow was clearly displeased, but stayed silent Snape continued his speech.

"Following the disappearance of Professor Charity Burbage, the position of Professor of Muggle Studies is also vacant. This vacancy would be filled by Professor Alecto Carrow, who has kindly decided to donate her time to the school. In this line of thought, Muggle Studies have also been raised to the position of a core curriculum by the Ministry of Magic, and hence attendance is required for all students." As he said this, Snape's mouth twisted into the tiniest of sneers that was barely detectable. Alecto Carrow face grew red with anger as she was also greeted with lackluster applause, but like her brother she did not express her anger otherwise as Snape continued his speech.

"Furthermore, Professor Rubeus Hagrid has been deemed incapable by the Board of Governors of fulfilling the roles of a professor, and relieved of his duty. His spot as Professor for Care of Magical Creatures would be taken up by Walden Macnair." Macnair sneered at the slight applause he received before turning his attention back to his plate.

"Professor Amycus Carrow and Alecto Carrow are also assigned to be Deputy Headmaster and Headmistress, respectively, and are in charge of all disciplinary actions for student misdemeanors, regardless of the House of the offending student." Snape's eyes glittered dangerously, while Professor McGonagall's mouth twisted in distaste. "As such, while I am fully aware that rule-breaking has been a deeply embedded subculture in Hogwarts, be advised that disciplinary actions this year would be quite different than the previous years."

"And finally, there is the issue of the newest Ministry policy regarding Muggle-born wizards. The ministry has declared that since Muggle-borns have no wizarding ancestry, they must have stolen their magic from some wizard or witch. As such, all Muggle-borns are now required to submit themselves to registration and interrogation by the Ministry to determine their magical origins." An angry murmur went up and down the Great Hall, and Snape's eyes narrowed. "I should remind the student body that aiding any Muggle-borns in avoiding registration is highly illegal, and would be punished with zero tolerance. With that in mind, I wish you all a good school year on behalf of the faculty." With a wave of his hand, Snape inclined his head ever so slightly towards the Great Hall. At that signal of dismissal, the students started getting up and heading towards their respective common rooms.

The Slytherins buzzed with conversation as they headed towards the Slytherin dungeons, but I remained silent. The Dark Lord has elected to remain in the shadows for so many different aspects of his regime, but has placed up such a display of power at Hogwarts. At its worst, the original Ministry only placed one High Inquisitor in Hogwarts, who nevertheless managed to do quite a bit of damage throughout the year despite the presence of Dumbledore. For the Dark Lord to insert not one, but four of his followers among the ranks of the Hogwarts staff does not bode well for the year.

Once in the common room, I excused myself from the conversations and quickly went up to the dormitories. After changing into pajamas, I laid on my bed, unable to sleep. As I close my eyes, the sight of the line of Muggle-born children being dragged past our train compartment plays itself across my eyes. Gritting my teeth, I tried to dispel the memory as I curled into my blankets. The familiar feeling of an icy lump forming in my stomach returned.

This is not how the confidence of the pure-bloods should work. Lords should sit confident on their thrones, not interfering with the growth of peasants out of any fear of revolt. Any nobility who does not have that confidence is not worthy of the throne. As the purest of all magical bloodlines, the Sacred Twenty-Eight should be the nobility of all wizard-kind, and hence should be the ones cultivating the strengths of half-blood and muggle-born wizards, for in the end it is us, the nobility of the wizards, who would reap the highest benefit. For a wizard who claims to champion the pure bloods, the Dark Lord should know this.

Yet here we are, under the reign of the Dark Lord, and sabotaging the educations of Muggle-borns, just like a jealous student would sabotage the class project of a superior classmate. We, the pure-bloods, should be guiding nobles who leads all wizard kind towards a stronger future. Yet here we are, acting out of malice barely worthy of a schoolyard bully, against those who could barely put up a fight. This is not how nobles should act. My mouth twisted in disgust at the thought.

No, the Dark Lord's reign would not last long. Not like this.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I only own the OC

* * *

Morris nodded at me as I sat down next to him in the new DADA classroom.

"Oi, excited to see what we're gonna learn here in our last year?" I chuckled.

"Of course. It has to be better than the new Muggle Studies." Morris made a face at the mention of Muggle Studies. While the topic might have been an actual area study back when Professor Burbage was teaching it, it was nothing but pure-blood propaganda. And while I have no doubt that many Slytherins would agree with what Carrow was preaching, there was only that many ways you can express hatred before it gets old.

"Professor Alecto is just as bad as Professor Bins when it comes to teaching." Morris whispers, shaking his head slightly. "The difference is that Professor Alecto is actually passionate about her subject, which just makes it sad. Hopefully Professor Amycus would be slightly better at teaching his assigned topic."

"Oh he better be." I whispered back. "For someone with his history, either he's really good at dueling, or an even better cons man and braggart than Lockhart ever was. And I highly doubt it's the latter. Let's just hope he's half decent at teaching us how to duel."

At that moment, the doors to the classroom flew open, and Amycus Carrow walked in. A short, stocky wizard, Carrow had a wheezing laugh that belied the dangerous glint in his eyes. Walking up to the front of the classroom, Carrow absentmindedly threw his cloak onto the front table before turning around to face us.

"Hello brats. Welcome to your first Defense against the Dark Arts class." Carrow sneered slightly as he said those words, and a few Ravenclaw's eyes widened in anger at his condescending tone. "Although to be honest I'm not quite sure how much 'defense' would be part of the curriculum anymore now that you're all in your last year. I'm sure under the whole patchwork of Professors you've had before, all you brats have a basic understanding of defense against attacks. This year, we're gonna look into the aggressive aspects of magic."

"So… where to start? I'm sure all you little brats have learned some basic dueling spells like stunners, disarmers, and other stuff like that. The point is, those spells work well as starters when it comes to dueling, but they coddle you when it comes to the finer points of dueling." Carrow smirked slightly as he faced the class. "Why? Because none of those spells require _intention_. You can point your wand and say the incantation, and unless you deliberately try to hold your magic back the spell would still shoot out and stun whoever it was it was stupid enough to stand in the way of your wand… and that magic is heartless, intention-less, and _dead._ In this way, they are fundamentally worse than whatever your old professors would call 'Dark Magic'."

"You see, everything that your old Professors would call 'Dark Magic' is actually just magic that are dangerous to living things. Now lemme ask you kids: What magic isn't dangerous? You can kill someone with a simple soup spoon if you tried hard enough, shall we call soup spoons 'Dark'?" Amycus spat to the side before continuing his lecture. "Hah! Hypocrites, all of them. Magic is based upon intention, and with the correct intention any simple everyday charm can be made into 'Dark Magic'." Saying that, Carrow whipped out his want and pointed it at a metal chair in the corner of the classroom.

" _Descendo!_ " Carrow spat while whipping his wand in a downwards whip-like fashion. The chair crumbled in upon itself as the top of the chair crushed its own legs in its descent. A small gasp went up in the classroom as Carrow smiled crookedly. "See? Now imagine that on a human…. Terrifying, isn't it?"

"The thing is, that was a simple descending charm taught to all Hogwarts students in their first year. Yet look at that chair right there. Doesn't seem like the work of any 'non-Dark' magic, right?" Carrow cackled at himself. "The fact is, most dark curses are just simple charms that are amped up. Slashing Curse? Just a simple cutting charm with a different incantation. Impaling Curse? Just a banishing charm with a smaller surface area and a different incantation. They are all the same!" A hand shot up in the side of the Ravenclaws, and Carrow eyed it with slight distain before nodding his head. The Ravenclaw stood up.

"Professor, if the incantations are different, then wouldn't they be completely different spells?" Carrow's scowl grew at the question.

"Tell me… Michael Corner, is it?" Corner nodded his head, and Carrow continued. "Tell me, are you proposing that magic is governed by certain words? That, perhaps, by the flapping of gums anyone can cast spells? Do you now? 10 points off Ravenclaw for sheer stupidity!" Corner could only gap dumbly at Carrow's outburst. Carrow spat at the floor before turning back to the unfortunate Ravenclaw.

"Listen here dimwit. Magic is governed by the mind, blood, and INTENTION! Tell me, you dimwit genius, what is the difference between cutting up carrots for soup and chopping up your granny for talking too much? Eh? It's INTENTION, and NOTHING ELSE!" Carrow was almost nose-to-nose with a very bewildered Michael Corner at this moment, spittle flying from his mouth. "All those incantations that you were talking about? They're just there as guidelines there to make sure weak wizards won't accidently do one thing while intending to do another! They're there to make sure that if you were chopping carrots and talking to granny, you won't end up chopping up granny instead!"

"You see, magic fundamentally requires _intention_. Every curse, every hex, every spell, requires the right amount of intention. Even the Unforgivable Curses, if you aren't really sure that you want to control, torture, or kill someone, they won't work for you. They're all alive, and they bow to your will, and nothing else! Many wizards fear the power of magic that is alive, and instead try to fill your head with silly little dead spells like stunning and disarming. Pah! They stifle your growth of mind when it comes to dueling, and they're inflexible as all hell. You shoot a stunner at an enemy and they grab your granny as a shield? The stunner would work as usual, and yer granny would be lucky not to have a heart attack. You try doing the same thing, only with the Cruciatus Curse? Your granny will only feel the mild effects of a stinging hex!"

At this point Carrow stopped to breath, wheezing slightly as he leaned against the front desk. Suddenly looking old and tired, Carrow dismissed Corner with a curt nod and the Ravenclaw sat down quickly. For a few seconds, the class stayed in dead silence as Carrow wheezed and coughed, leaning against the front desk.

"The point of all that is, we have to start putting some _intention_ into the minds of you little brats before any of you could move on to the higher level dueling techniques. An' that ain't gonna be accomplished in a lecture class, so you brats better get off your arses right now!" At his command, the class stood up. Carrow waved his wand, pushing all the furniture to the side of the room and leaving a wide space open in the center. "So now, I'm gonna have let you kids go at it. Two at a time. Yer only allowed to use common charms, but try to place some intention into those charms and see what it brings you."

"The rules of the game are like this: no stunners, no disarming, no jinx or hex that was taught with the express purpose of dueling. No fires or other elemental spells either, cos those don't take any imagination and focus to amp up to dueling levels. Only spell you can use from a DADA class is the shield charm. Now, you and you, get to the center of the room and start at it." Carrow pointed at me and another Ravenclaw, who I recognized as Anthony Goldstein, in quick succession. I traded a glance with the other student before walking to the center of the room and taking up my position, with the Goldstein following suit. Carrow cackled slightly.

"Now go! Get at each other!" For a brief second, the two of us just stared at each other, unsure of what to do. Then, Goldstein jabbed his wand in my direction, sending me hurtling backwards with a banishing charm. I felt the breath fly out of my chest as my back struck the classroom walls hard. Recovering my breath, I saw the Ravenclaw circling me with careful steps, a slight smile on his face.

Oh he did _not_ just taunt me like this. Standing up with a grunt, I tried to banish him as well with a flick of my wand, but my attempt was deflected easily by the smirking Goldstein. Growling at myself, I flicked my wand at him a few more times.

" _Ascendio! Descendo! Depulso!"_ My pine wand rose and fell with every strike, but every time my opponent merely smiled and deflected the attack with ease and grace. The deflected spells were sent flying in all directions, sending desks and tables flying. Carrow cackled in the midst of the chaos, as the other students all casted shield charms to protect themselves from the flying furniture. I snarled in frustration. How is he blocking all my attacks so easily?!

After sidestepping a few more of my attacks, Anthony clucked his tongue and flicked his wand quickly from side to side, sending two magical strikes my way. Slashing my wand to a side, I casted a shield charm to intercept one of them, while my hand reached towards my belt, where my knife…

My knife wasn't there. I don't wear my knife to classes.

My eyes widened at my mistake just as the banishing charm hit me with the force of a battering ram, sending me flying sideways and bouncing off one of the shield charms that were erected during our duel. Regaining my footing, I stared at the smirking Ravenclaw, who had resumed pacing around me. This wouldn't do… in my angered state I'm unable to duel properly… as a Shafiq I should've known better… swinging my wand around, I etched a small circle on the ground around me.

" _Protego durabilis_." I murmured, causing the marks on the ground to flare up slightly as the protective circle closed around me. Then I started taking slow, meditative breathes.

Calm down Ormod. Think about what Carrow just said…. Magic is governed by the mind, blood, and intention. Of those three, my blood is the purest, and my intentions just now were nothing less of murderous. Which leave the mind… My mind has never been normal, that has been established. But I've never had a problem dueling before today… so why is that…?

Outside of the circle, my opponent flicked his wand at me once more, only to frown as the charm simply bounced off. I flinched, but didn't respond to his attack. I must think first before acting if I am to win this duel. I strengthened my wards with a muttered word, and stood silently as they lit up with various ripples and lines from the spells that are assailing it.

Wait… ripples and lines… My eyes widen slightly as the possibility occurs to me. I've always been partial to _Incendio_ while I dueled, mainly because I've always found stunners and other such hexes hard to focus. Any stunning attempts made by me would either fizzle out after a few meters or simply be too weak to actually stun anyone. I wonder… whether such limitations also apply when I'm using other charms and spells with the intention to harm…

Sparks started flying out the circle at my feet, alerting me that the protective ward was going to fail soon. Raising my wand, I sank into a slight crouch, a plan slowly forming in my mind. I smiled slightly at the familiar feeling of the calm during a duel. Anger never brought any good into this world, and it would never bring you a proper edge in a fight. I should not have forgotten that in the first place.

The wards broke with the sound of glass shattering. Anthony Goldstein smirked once more, and flicked his wand side to side again, sending two surges of magical energy in my directions. I smiled grimly, and crossed my arms.

" _Diffindo!_ " Uncrossing my arms quickly, I slashed my wand in a long arc, encompassing my opponent and the two surges of magical energy. The energy strikes dissipated as they were sliced open by the severing charm, and Anthony barely managed to put up a shield charm in time to stop himself from being sliced open, his smug smirk disappearing from his face.

At that moment, I stepped into the center of the room once more, etching a wide circle onto the ground with my wand once more.

" _Protego durabilis."_

My opponent rolled his eyes as the circle of protection snapped shut around me once more. He raised his want in preparation to strike down my wards once more, perhaps this time with more force than the last. Carrow was also looking slightly annoyed at this point. But it doesn't matter; the shield was only step one.

Ignoring the magical strikes on the wards, I flourished the pine wand in my hands towards my surroundings once more, trying to include the entire classroom in the next spell. Then, just as a feint, I jabbed the wand once towards my opponent, smirking as he hastily sidestepped.

" _Accio furniture."_ Anthony realized his mistake at the last moment, as he spun around to face the other direction. But it was too late for him. All the desks and chairs in the room had been lifted up and are now hurtling towards me. I would be fine, with my wards protecting me. On the other hand, the Ravenclaw is not so lucky, especially since he spent his last precious few seconds dodging my feint.

One of the desks caught him straight in the chest and flattened him against my wards. Anthony blasted the desk into ashes with a reductor curse in an attempt to free himself, but several other desks and chairs quickly joined in on the pile and pinned him firmly against my wards.

I watched my opponent struggle futilely against the pile of classroom furniture pinning him onto my wards, noting the shimmering energy that surrounded him like a cloak. Without thinking about it, I started taking deep breaths, as if savoring the air around me. A void opened up deep inside me, and my mouth began to water at the prospect of…

…at the prospect of what? I blinked slightly in confusion, as my mind tried to understand what just happened. Gritting my teeth, I shook my head roughly to clear it. What was I thinking? What was I doing? What the hell…?

"Shafiq, what the hell are you loitering for! If this was an actual duel you can gloat all you want, but this is a class and other people need to go as well!" Carrow's voice broke me through my stupor. I gave my head one final shake, finally managing to focus it. Yes, I was dueling in DADA class, and had trapped my opponent between my wards and a pile of furniture debris. Now, for the final step, the step that actually required most of the intention that Carrow was asking for.

Raising my pine wand, I unfocused my eyes slightly. In my mind, I pictured the Anthony Goldstein's smug smile at the start of our duel, and a wellspring of anger surged up within me. Funny how negative feelings such as anger, sadness, and frustration seems to be always on standby, while other emotions such as happiness are so out of reach…

Grasping onto the surge of anger within me, I channeled it all into my wand, and snapped it downwards towards the ground. The breath rushed out of my lungs as I released the energy pent up with an incantation:

" _Protego expello._ " The protecting circle around me glowed brightly for a split second, illuminating the Anthony's shocked eyes in their ghastly light.

And then, with the sound like a gunshot, the shield exploded outwards, sending all the desks and chairs hurtling outwards, with Goldstein mixed in the middle of the barrage. All around me I heard swearing and exclamations of shock, punctuated with the occasional cry of pain as all the spectating students were bombarded with the flying pieces of furniture.

By the time everything went silent, I was standing in the center of the class room alone, with the wreckages of a few dozen desks and chairs littered around the classroom. Anthony Goldstein was buried under a small pile of desks and chairs. A few of his friends were helping him dig himself out, and he seemed shaken but relatively unharmed. Most of the other students had managed to defend themselves from the falling debris, with the few that got hit sporting bruises and swells but nothing more serious. Carrow's wheezing laugh echoed though the classroom as he walked towards the center of the classroom.

"Nice plannin' Shafiq. I never thought I'd see the day someone used the _Shield Charm_ , outta all charms in the whole damm world, in such an aggressive manner. Granted, you did waste a ton of time at the start of the duel, but it turned out just fine, right? 10 points to Slytherin for imagination, if nothing else." Drawing out his wand, Carrow swung it around in a sweeping motion. " _Reparo omnes_!"

All the broken tables and desks floated up and repaired themselves in midair at Carrow's command. Once everything was fixed and set, Carrow pointed at two other students.

"You and you, the room is yours. Have at it, and don't destroy everything this time around."

As I stood back into the crowd, Morris clasped me on the back, smiling slightly.

"Can't say I'm a fan of all the raining furniture and debris, but I gotta say the look on Goldstein's face right before you threw him was amazing." I raised an eyebrow.

"Really? He was that scared?"

"You didn't see that, mate? The color was just draining out of his face, like he was seeing a ghost or something." Morris chuckled. "Bloody Ravenclaws, so scared of acting like a fool in class…"

"Yeah, that might be it…" I chuckled to myself unconvincingly, glancing towards Goldstein. The Ravenclaw has a slightly haunted expression on his face as his friends applied healing magic to his bruises and wounds. An icy lump starting forming in my stomach as I remembered the shimmering energy that gathered, and is still gathering, around Goldstein, and how my mouth watered as soon as I noticed it. In fact, my mouth is still watering, accompanied by a deep feeling of hollowness.

What… is happening to me?

* * *

Author's Note: If we're being completely honest here, this chapter was slow as all hell to write. Hopefully the end results are fine... Anyways, please review!


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I only own the OC

* * *

After DADA class, I hurried alongside Morris towards the grounds for our first Care of Magical Creatures Class.

"Sure hope Macnair doesn't have the same liking for fangs and claws that oaf Hagrid did. I already have a bad enough cut as it is." Morris muttered as he limped forward, and I winced sympathetically. During his duel, Morris' leg was sliced open by his opponent, and it didn't seem to have fully healed despite Carrow's best efforts in first aid.

"You sure you don't need to visit the Hospital Wing?" Morris shook his head.

"Nah. Pretty sure Madam Promfey can't do anything more for me at this state. Plus, the leg works perfectly, it's just that it still aches a bit." Morris smiled grimly. "As long as we're not dealing with Blast-ended Skrewts or something like that, I should be fine."

"I guess that can be said for everybody involved."

A cold gust of wind hit my face as we walked out of the front gates and into the misty grounds. I shivered slightly and pulled my cloak closer as we walked towards the rendezvous point for class. Looking around, I noticed I wasn't the only one. All the other slytherins around me were huddling closer in their cloaks, with mist flowing out of their mouths with every breath.

"Is it just me, or is this uncharacteristically cold for September?" I asked Morris, drawing my wand and pointing it to my right hand. At a flick of my thoughts, a jet of blue flames streamed from the tip of my wand and settled harmlessly in my palm. The other slytherin shrugged, leaning over slightly towards the warmth of the flames.

"Eh, weather's been going all weird on us for the last few years anyways. Nobody knows why, but I won't be surprised by anything at this point." Morris shivered slightly. "But I get your point. It's bloody cold out here."

We walked silently through the fog for a few minutes, before the sound of jeering came from the front of the group. I rolled my eyes, and Morris chuckled.

"I guess we're with the Gryffindors again." I muttered under my breath, eyeing Crabbe who was in the midst of hurling a whole barrage of insults towards the Gryffindors, much to the amusement of Goyle and Nott. "You'd think that after 6 years of magical education, these people can learn how to be civilly disdainful, but noooooo… we have to act like 11 year olds who drank half a bottle of firewhiskey when their parents aren't watching."

"Hey, don't tell me you're siding with the Gryffindors, are you?" Morris looked at me with narrowed eyes. I snorted at his accusation.

"Have some faith Shawn. I'm not going that far. I just hoped that Crabbe and Goyle would've at least learned a handful of new insults since they've been screaming at the Gryffindors for 6 years and counting, but I guess I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up." I smirked slightly in the direction of the Gryffindors. "And also, why would I even waste my breath on those Gryffindors? If I express disappointment with people, it's because I want them to improve. I don't give a dam about the Gryffindors."

"Heh, fair enough."

Our new professor was waiting for us at the rendezvous point, wearing a thick fur cloak. He was a tall man, his body built with muscle, undoubtedly a reminder from his years as an executioner. His face was square and brutish, and one of his eyes was bloodshot. Macnair looked like a man who is fully capable of giving you a painful death by magical means, but would much prefer to do so with his own hands instead.

Next to Macnair was a couple of young children with starved and empty looks in their eyes, all of them chained by the ankle to stakes that were driven deep into the ground. Looking them over, I recognized a few of the faces from the Hogwarts Express, when the Death Eaters were flushing out the first year Muggle-borns. Several hisses of anger came from the Gryffindors as they beheld the sight, while Crabbe and Goyle's gang jeered. I turned my head away, my brows furrowing.

"Professor, we aren't gonna study Mudbloods, aren't we?" Pansy Parkinson complained sarcastically, to the massive laughter of some Slytherins. "Because while they're certainly 'creatures', they're hardly 'magical'!" Macnair cracked a smile.

"Nah, they're just a treat for the actual beasts we're studyin' today. Only way to keep them placated enough for any studyin' to happen." Raising his voice slightly, Macnair shouted out towards the class. "Now listen up, brats! This year's curriculum is gonna be slightly different than the usual seventh year stuff that they cram in your brains. We're gonna look into all the creatures that they used to think were too intense for you guys, the kinds that they used to teach you only how to fight against… Cos' you'll be dealing with 'em a lot starting from this year."

"And for your first class, we'll be dealing with then new security detail that has been posted around Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, something I'm sure you chumps dealt with earlier before… the Dementor." A chorus of gasps came from the class at the mention of the dementor. I held my breath slightly as Macnair looked expectantly into the fog. After a minute, five cloaked figures started floating out of the fog, and Macnair walked up to them as if he was greeting old friends. The cobalt flames in my hand spluttered and went out.

"Now, class. This is the usual security detail that patrols the grounds, all of them recruited by me. This one right here-" Macnair walked over to the dementor in the middle, seemingly unaffected by the dementor's aura. "This one seems to be the Alpha of this team. I call it Scar, and it's not hard to figure out why." As he spoke, Macnair drew the dementor's hood back. Upon seeing the dementor's face, my breath was released in a long hiss, and my eyes widened in recognition.

The dementor had a long gash along its face, as well as an ugly bite marks overlapping with its mouth. Lifting his head, Scar took in a deep rattling breath, causing a cold lump to form in my stomach. Then it turned its head in my direction.

 _"You again…."_ A raspy voice hissed out. I blinked, and looked around. All of the other students were staring at the dementors with varying levels of fear and disgust in their eyes, while Macnair was happily recounting how he managed to recruit all five of the dementors. Nobody else seemed to have heard the disembodied voice.

"And as you know, there's a common misunderstanding that dementors bring sadness and misery around, which is not technically true." The dementors started edging towards the students as Macnair continued his lecture. "The reality is that dementors feed on happy feelings, so what people feel whenever they're being fed on by a dementor is whatever they have left other than happiness. For most people, that'll be sadness and despair, but I dunno, maybe there are folks out there who don't feel that sad when they're being fed on…"

" _Like this one…._ " I flinched again at the raspy voice that rang in my ears. Scar started gliding in my direction, only to stop as the dementor next to it grabbed ahold of its cloak. Scar turned around to face the other dementor with a hiss. " _What?!_ "

 _"Not now… we still need those fools to be happy…"_ A second voice screeched out in my ear. Scar hissed once more, but its shoulders drooped slight in a sign of resignation. My eyes widened slightly at the interaction, and I glanced around. None of the others, including Macnair, seemed to have noticed that the dementors were doing anything else than hovering around creepily. Is it possible that those voices belong to the dementors…?

" _My, my, my… it seems that someone is finally coming around…"_ The voice rasped once more, and Scar's mouth twisted into a deformed imitation of a smile. I snarled a bit under my breath at the dementor's taunting smile. _"So you can hear us, can't you? I wonder why?"_

Scar's hand reached up and lightly touched on the bite marks along its mouth. The memory of the dementor's icy ichor flowing down my throat flared up in my mind, and I swallowed heavily to drive the feeling out. Scar's mouth twisted into that taunting imitation of a smile once more before turning towards the chained up muggle-borns along with the rest of the dementors. I was vaguely aware that Macnair was loudly explaining dementor feeding habits towards the class, as Scar closed in on one of the muggle-borns.

" _Expecto Patronum!"_ Without any warning, a silver fox and a silver badger simultaneously sprang out from the group of Gryffindors, scattering the dementors from the chained Muggle-borns. Spinning myself around, I saw Neville Longbottom and Seamus Finnegan standing with their wands ready, a furious expression on both their faces.

Macnair let out a enraged bellow and disappeared with a swirl of his black cloak, reappearing instantaneously behind Neville and Seamus. A long cut appeared on Finnegan's back as Macnair slashed at it viciously with his wand. Neville spun around with his wand ready, only to be subdued as Macnair backhanded him with enough force to send Neville sprawling. I frowned slightly at Macnair's apparition within the school grounds. It seems that the Dark Lord has made his own little customizations towards Hogwart's magical enchantments.

"Who do you think you are, disturbing my class and attacking my beasts? 50 points off Gryffindor each and detentions for both of you, Mr. Longbottom and Mr. Finnegan! And perhaps for the demonstrations, you can join the mudbloods, eh?" Macnair shook his head like an angry bull, and kicked Neville fiercely on the side, making the Gryffindor cough up specks of blood. At a nod of his head, the dementors grabbed Neville and Seamus, picking them up and dropping them in a pile with the chained muggleborns. Scar turned towards me slightly.

" _Watch and learn, young one…."_ As the dementors closed in upon their prey, the shimmering energy above them intensified. Despite my revulsion, my mouth watered as I eyed the aura of energy above the chained victims. _"This is how we feed…"_

"You see class, in my years of dealing with dementors, I always find that they don't just go in for the feed unless someone explicitly commands them to." Macnair lectured, ignoring the obvious signs of discomfort among his students. "If they're just doing it by themselves, they tend to just stand there and hover for a few seconds before starting to feed. Nobody really knows why though, and it's only one of the few mysteries about dementors …"

The dementor's reason for waiting was quite clear to me though. As they waited patiently, the shimmering aura surrounding the prey expanded and intensified with every passing second. I lowered my head and wiped the corner of my mouth with my sleeve, painfully aware of the twisting hollowness deep within me. A hollowness that went beyond mere hunger or thirst…

Apparently done with waiting, the five dementors each took a single, deep, rattling breath. The aura of energy surrounding the prey rose up and split in five directions, each one flowing into a different dementor. The temperature plummeted, and a mist arose around the dementors as they fed upon their prey. Macnair and I were unaffected, but the rest of the class were all shivering from the temperature drop.

"So that's about it for feeding when it comes to a dementor, unless we wanna get into the dementor's kiss as well. Sadly even for a professor like me, the dementor's kiss is still something that I don't have the authority to show for educational purposes." Macnair complained wistfully. "And as for reproduction… well, nobody knows about that. The closest wizards ever got for a theory was that dementors were born out of damp and decay, but that's hardly an academic answer, now ain't it?"

"Now, for the rest of this class, I want you kids to interact with those dementors. If you don't feel good petting them or something, just walk up and observe. I have a few chores I need to do, so go ahead without me. I'll be back after a while." Ignoring his class' incredulous stares, Macnair backed away and started moving Neville, Finnegan, and the muggle-borns towards the direction of Hagrid's hut.

" _How little the wizards know. Damp and decay… do they think that we are but mold?"_ Scar's voice scratched against my ears once more. The dementors was floating towards us, while my classmates around me were backing away from it. Gritting my teeth, I stood my ground, and soon Scar and I were basically nose-to-nose, with nobody else near us. I was vaguely aware of the other dementors accosting the rest of the class, but I didn't dare look away from Scar.

" _Do you know, young one, how dementors reproduce?"_

"No, and why should I?" I hissed quietly in response.

" _Well, I promised Macnair that I would aid in your education, so maybe a lecture is in order."_ Scar slowly floated around me, forcing me to adjust my footings to keep the dementor within my line of sight. _"You see, the fool Macnair might know next to nothing about dementors, but he is correct about one thing… we are simply creatures like other magical beings, and hence have our own biological life cycle just like any other living thing. Any accounts that say otherwise are just grossly exaggerating our reputations."_

"Get to your point before I repel you again. You know I am fully capable of doing so without a patronus." I whispered, grasping my family amulet tightly, almost tight enough to draw blood. Scar let out a wheezing cough (he's _laughing_ , I realized, eyes widening), and held up both of its hands in a placating gesture.

" _Peace young one. Do bear with me, as I am old and tend to blather along… First maybe you should see this."_ Raising its left arm slightly, Scar allowed the sleeves of its tattered cloak fall down a bit, revealing a decayed forearm. _"Look closely, young one, for this will be the proof for everything else that I say later."_

"What are you even getting at-" I stopped mid-sentence, dumbly staring at Scar's forearm with disbelief. It was faded and ruined by years of death and decay, to the extent that it was barely anything more than a faded scar ruined by a bad infection. But even in such a state, it was unmistakable, especially in this time and age.

The Dark Mark. Scar was somehow branded with faded, inactive version of the Dark Mark.

" _Strange how these things tend to deactivate once the bearer is no longer human, eh? Even with the Dark Lord now at full power, the mark has not burned at all since my metamorphosis._ " Scar's mused, a hint of amusement within his voice. _"Ironic that I still serve him after all this time. Ah well, the apple never falls far from the tree."_

"What is the meaning of this? What are you trying to tell me?!" I snarled, a horrible pit forming in my stomach as a possible answer formed in my mind.

" _Really? Stop fooling yourself. I was human once, just like you."_ Scar covered its Dark Mark with its tattered cloak once more. _"Have you ever wondered why dementors have such similar body structures as you humans? Did you really think that it was a coincidence?"_

"And your point? If you're fishing around for sympathy than you'd better look elsewhere." My voice shook slightly, betraying my words. The logical conclusion was hovering on the edge of my thoughts, but I forcibly pushed it away. It simply can't be the case….

" _Seems like you're determined to delude yourself… Admirable, but futile…"_ Scar touched the bite marks on its jaws absentmindedly, its mouth twisting into a mockery of a smile. _"After all, you'll soon become one of us, either in behavior or in essence."_ I froze at Scar's words, my eyes widened in dread as my growing suspicions were confirmed

"What… do you mean?" I whispered, dreading the answer.

" _You drank my ichor when you bit me, what did you expect? That it would go down like a goblet of butterbeer?"_ Scar tilted its head slightly in a taunting fashion. _"Dementors reproduce by seeking out humans who are devoid of happiness, and infusing them with our ichor. I admit this might be the first time that someone who wasn't completely devoid of emotions received the kiss of life… but you've felt the hunger. I noticed your expression when I was feeding earlier, and it was unmistakable. You hunger."_

I remained silent as Scar circled me, knuckles white from grasping my amulet. Blood seeped from my hand where the amulet had cut into my palm.

 _"Perhaps… you might have already began the metamorphosis, which would certainly explain some things. And if you continue to starve yourself, you would proceed further in the metamorphosis until you fully become one of us…"_ Scar rasped over my shoulder, while I grit my teeth. _"On the other hand, in your current state you should far enough along the change to be capable of leeching happiness off others. If you kept yourself fed, you should be able to remain human, if you wish."_

"And why are you telling me this? What do you stand to gain from this?" Scar's rasping laugh greeted my question.

 _"Why, you ask? For the sake of amusement, of course! You have no idea how bored I was in the last few days, patrolling these same grounds over and over, being forced to feed on the same batch of miserable prey day after day, banned from hunting on fresh meat…"_ Scar swirled around me, pausing with its face level with mine. _"And lo and behold, the boy who drank my ichor just happens to be attending this school. Would you continue to starve yourself and complete the metamorphosis? Or would you start draining your peers of their happiness like a dementor, just to preserve your token humanity? I admit the idea of seeing your metamorphosis has considerably made my day more exciting."_

"Well aren't you quite the lively on for a dementor?" I snarled. "And that's quite an assumption you're making, that I have to gather happiness from others."

 _"Tsk, tsk, your words ring hollow even to yourself. We both know that you can't even generate enough happiness to keep a hamster sated. You were barely clinging on to humanity before I first met you. And yes, I am quite lively today. I wonder why? Might be because I just ate."_ Scar leaned its face closer to fine, and I wrinkled my nose at the odor of decay that came with the dementor. _"Perhaps I should just save you the painful choice and drain you dry right now… After all, I could use a bit of dessert…"_

Scar opened his mouth and took a rattling breath. A cold lump formed in my stomach, and I gasped in surprise as a stream of warmth flowed out of my chest in the form of a shimmering line of energy. The flow of warmth and happiness started snaking its way towards Scar.

"No… that is _mine_." I muttered under my breath. As I said that, the stream of emotions slowed down to a crawl, and I felt a wrenching twist in my stomach as I attempted to pull the flow of warmth away from Scar. The dementor recoiled slightly in surprise, before bracing itself in preparation to redouble its efforts.

"Woah, woah, woah, what're you doing, Scar?!" The broad figure of Walden Macnair appeared between me and Scar, pushing the two of us apart. I fell down onto my knees as Macnair pushed Scar away from me. "I said _interact_ with my class, not _feed_ on them!" Scar inclined his head towards Macnair slightly before turning his back.

 _"Well, I guess that option won't work anymore… Either way, I look forward to your choice, brother…"_ With that one final taunt, Scar glided away, the other dementors swiftly following its lead. Macnair looked at its retreating figure for a few seconds, before turning around and pulling me onto my feet.

"Hey kid, you're okay now. Let's get you to the Hospital Wing, Madam Promfrey would fix you up. For Merlin's sake that ol' harpy is gonna rip me a new one for letting this happen." Propping me up, Macnair started hurrying towards the castle gates. "CLASS DISMISSED!"

I remained silent as Macnair carried me into the castle and towards the Hospital Wing, Scar's voice still scratching along my memory:

" _Would you continue to starve yourself and complete the metamorphosis? Or would you start draining your peers of their happiness like a dementor, just to preserve your token humanity?"_

As Madam Pomfrey helped Macnair place me onto one cots, I couldn't help but have the sinking feeling that things would've been much simpler if Macnair had not jumped between me and Scar.

* * *

A/N: Dun dun DUNNNNN... But then again, I think I overdid it earlier with the foreshadowing... what do you guys think? Please review!


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I only own the OC

* * *

My bag landed onto the desk with a loud thump, as I swiftly lit up several torches and candles with murmured words. Behind me, Professor Slughorn stood at the door to the potions dungeon, wearing a velvet smoking jacket over his silk pajamas.

"Ormod, m'boy, I am glad that you're throwing in extra time to practice your potions making, but do really need to use the potions room so late at night?" Slughorn yawned slightly. "I'm quite sure your normal break times would be sufficient for you to brew most common potions covered in class. No need to lose sleep over it."

"Well Professor, break times are usually enough to brew a potion if you do it perfectly, but I'm trying something new so I anticipate a lot of trial-and-error for this one. I won't be finishing this one anytime soon." I smiled at Slughorn while unpacking my cauldron. "And besides, my classes don't start tomorrow until noon. I can sleep in then."

Slughorn sighed slightly, and pulled out a slip of parchment from his smoking jacket. After scribbling a few lines on it, he handed it to me.

"Go ahead then, m'boy. If Flinch or anyone else comes and tries to enforce curfew on you, this slip of parchment would show him that you've got permission from me. Good luck with your potions." Slughorn turned to leave, but then paused slightly at the doorway. "And Ormod, m'boy?"

"Yes, Professor?"

"Do be careful, will you? Not that it's anything large, but there's been reports that various rare potion ingredients have been found missing from the restricted potions section… Fluxweed, boomslang skin, bicorn horns… Do be careful, m'boy, because if this is indeed a thief we're talking about, it might not be safe being out here so late at night."

"I'll be fine professor. It won't be more dangerous than an average day in Hogwarts… Especially in these times." Slughorn chuckled quietly in response.

"Don't stay up too late, m'boy." With that, Slughorn left the dungeons, leaving me alone. I waited as his footsteps faded away, and then collapsed onto one of the chairs. The torched flames spluttered and dimmed, and mist started forming around my mouth with every exhalation. The icy lump in my stomach twisted in on itself, and I huddled inwards, shivering.

It was just as Scar said, the… _hunger_ was getting worse, to the point that I had to make a conscious effort to act like a normal human being around other people. And even then, my mouth waters whenever anyone is close to me. And it wasn't just me, others have started noticing it as well. They try to be polite about it, but I've seen how conversations die down whenever I'm around, how the shimmering positive auras dim with my proximity.

This is not sustainable. Not if I want to remain human, that is.

Taking a shuddering breath, I pushed myself off the chair and quickly flipped through my copy of _Advanced Potion Making_. Finding the page I was looking for, I left the book on the desk before placing several scrolls of scribbled notes next to it.

 _Time to figure this thing out…._

* * *

I frowned at the bubbling golden concoction before me, and consulted my notes again. Between the power of the elixir itself, the Muggle-invented technique of distillation, and the addition of my own blood for calibration, the potion should be strong enough to turn an average wizard into a giddy giggling mess with a single sip. Turning my gaze to aside, I glanced at another flask on the side with the same concoction and a shard of crystal slowly forming in the brew.

 _If the concoction itself does not serve its purpose, the crystalized version should be able to strengthen my next attempt to even further levels… perhaps even to toxic levels. Muggle alchemy techniques…. Hard to believe that they managed to simulate magic to this degree._ I reflected as I ladled out some of the elixir from the cauldron into a flask. _Well, let us see how well this concoction works… even if it doesn't sate my hunger, perhaps it can dull the pain?_

Muttering a prayer to myself, I brought the flask up to my lips and drained the golden concoction within. I felt the heat of artificial happiness pour into the void within, a raging storm of giddiness that would have overcome anyone and reduced them into pure joy and bliss. It flowed down my throat, determined to fill my every fiber with warmth and joy, whether I willed it or not.

And then…. It was gone.

I blinked in surprise and clutched my stomach. I searched in vain for that hint of hope and warmth that came with the elixir, but only the void remained. The Hunger intensified, it's appetite roused but not sated by the dose of artificial happiness. Mist formed from my breath, and frost started forming over the cauldron.

The flask slipped out of my hands and shattered on the dungeon floor. Someone gasped.

Spinning around, my eyes scanned the room until it honed in on a shimmering aura of emotions. My mouth watered, and without thinking I took a deep rattling breath, drawing the aura towards me. It felt… warm, and fulfilling in a way that elixirs can never be.

"S- _stupefy_!" A shrill voice screeched, and a stunner struck my right on the chest. The family amulet glowed briefly, deflecting the brunt of the spell. What remained though, was still enough to send me sprawling. Gasping for breath, I looked up to see a hooded figure shimmer into existence in the corner of dungeon.

 _A Disillusionment Charm…_ Glancing around, I saw the figure's back was to the staff supply closet, and was clutching a pouch in its off hand. _The thief that Slughorn warned me about… And I'm standing right between them and the exit… Great job Ormod_.

Without any hesitation, the cloaked figure raised its wand and jabbed it sharply in my direction, sending another stunner my way. Dancing to one side, I responded with a disarming charm, knocking my opponent back a few steps. The wand, however, remained in their hand. A hint of amusement entered their demeanor as they flourished their want and sent a few more stunners my way.

Side-stepping a few of the stunners and deflecting the last with my knife, I took cover behind one of the desks for a brief respite. Breathing heavily, I can hear the thief slowly edging along the wall, no doubt wary of the unnatural drop of temperature in the potions dungeon.

 _Goddamit! Why can't normal dueling spells just work for me once in my bloody life?!_ I thought desperately as the footsteps of my assailant got closer. _And I can't really torch the place or pull the same trick I did to Anthony Goldstein either, or else I'll trash this whole room and get in a lot more trouble than its worth. So what do I do….?_

My thoughts were interrupted by the corner of the desk shattering into countless wooden splinters. Shielding my eyes, I cursed as the cloaked figure continued to demolish the meager cover that I hid behind with a barrage of spells and hexes. Scrambling to my feet, I dove behind another desk and waved my wand in a quick circle around myself.

" _Protego durabilis_." I head a small pop as the circle of protection closed around me and the desk, shielding both me and my cover from my assailant. Sparks and ripples passed along my shield as the cloaked thief continued their barrage of spells. I frowned slightly at the unrelenting assault.

 _What? I'm not fighting back! Leave me be and move out! You're a thief aren't you? And it's not like I'm going to chase you and stab you in the…. Oh…_ My eyes widened at the realization. _Okay now it makes more sense. They have to neutralize me first in order to feel safe… Goddammit I just wanted to brew some potions!_

Cursing my bad luck, I flourished my wand again, etching rune carvings on the ground along the borders of my protective circle while my opponent continued in their attempt to tear it down. The circle wavered dangerously as it threatened to fall apart, and I snarled in annoyance. _Not fast enough…._ Grabbing my dagger, I started carving runes in my off hand while enchanting them rapidly with my wand, speeding up the fortifications significantly. But even so, I could just barely keep up with the amount of damage that my opponent is wreaking on my shield.

 _I'll give them that, they are one skilled duelist… Half of the Slytherin House couldn't deal as much sustained damage as this one can…_ I thought begrudgingly as I continued carving runes on the ground, the light of the spells crashing against my shield illuminating my work. _But even so, I can't keep this up forever. As a battle of attrition goes, I am at a disadvantage here… There has to be a way that I can return fire effectively without trashing the entire room…_ As I carved another rune onto the stone floor, my eyes widened with realization.

Finishing the final fortifications on my shield, I backed up a bit in my circle to create space. My magical shield sparked and crackled as countless jinxes and hexes assaulted its surface, but I ignored the light show and stabbed my dagger into the stone floor, carving out a rough pattern as I whispered incantations under my breath.

" _Diuturnus obscurus tendicula…"_ I chanted under my breath, acutely aware that my circle was seconds away from being destroyed, _" …tres potens stupefy loco_!"

The jagged rune carved on the floor shined once and dimmed into darkness. A second later, my shield exploded with the sound of shattering glass, forcing me to raise my arms to defend against the shower of magical sparks. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed my opponent flourishing their wand, and instinctively sidestepped two jinxes while slicing through a third with my knife. The last one however, struck me square in the chest.

I was flung backwards by the force of the spell, my amulet only lessening the magical effects while doing nothing about the physical force behind the magic. My breath flew out of my lungs as my back crashed against the stone walls of the potions dungeon, leaving me gasping for breath. From the corner of my mind, I also noticed that my legs weren't exactly responding to my commands either, even accounting for the confounding factor of just-being-flung-against-a-stone-wall. To make matters worse, my opponent hasn't let up the fire yet, seeing as how jinxes and hexes are still blowing up around me.

 _Jelly Leg Curse…. What, are we back in first grade now?_ I complained as I flopped over and crawled over out of my assailant's line of fire. Once under cover, I twisted around and jabbed my wand at my unresponsive legs.

" _Reparifors. Episkey._ " Sensation slowly returned to my legs and pain receded from my back where I landed on the wall. My ragged breathing slowed and smoothed out as my minor injuries were healed, allowing me to hear the slow footsteps as my opponent advanced towards my location. I readied my dagger in an icepick grip and crouched down, ready to spring.

 _Please, for the sake of your own life, trigger the trap._ I pleaded silently towards my opponent. The footsteps drew closer, and I tightened my grip on my knife. _Or else I'll be forced to stab you and I think that would be kind of hard to explain, even to the Carrows._

The footsteps, slow and wary, continued for a few more steps. And then they stopped, replaced by a sharp intake of breath. Eyes widening, I risked a peek out from the corner of my hiding spot. I was greeted with the sight of my assailant looking down in shock at the rune she just stepped on, which was glowing scarlet. The light shown up towards her face, illuminating her features, one that I recognized instantly.

Marietta Edgecombe. No amount of makeup and veils can hide the distinctive pattern of pimples that dotted her face ever since our fifth year.

My rune trap crackled once before releasing three stunners straight up, simultaneously striking Edgecombe on the leg, shoulder, and chest. Edgecombe's mouth opened wide in a silent scream as she was lifted off her feet by the force of the spells, before crashing down in an unconscious heap on the stone ground. I breathed a sigh of relief, before walking towards one of the desks and sinking into the wooden chair placed there.

 _Not really comfortable… but anything's fine after a fight like that._ I glanced over at Edgecombe's unconscious form. _She was trained by Potter during our fifth year wasn't she? I shudder to think how well the kid himself duels, if this is the skills of one of his students…_

As I was musing to myself, I slowly felt the void within me creeping its way back into my consciousness. Just as normal hunger is exacerbated by exercise, the void seems to be much more demanding than before after the fight. I slowly closed my eyes and breathed deeply, feeling the temperature of the room drop as I struggled to control my Hunger. And then I felt something warm caress my face.

Opening my eyes again, I saw a silver mist, not unlike that of an incorporeal patronus, emerging from Edgecombe's body, swirling and thickening with every breath I take. It glowed, promising me warmth and fulfillment that no elixir can ever offer. The void within me churned, and my mouth watered profusely at the sight of the silver mist. Reaching out tentatively, I prodded the mist, and gasped as warmth crawled up my arm, alleviating the gaping void ever so slightly.

And then, instincts not entirely human grabbed ahold of me. Standing up and reaching out with both arms, I plunged my hands into the silver mist and started funneling the mist towards my face, breathing it in deeply. Warmth spread down my throat and out from my stomach, similar to how one feels when one drinks butterbeer but infinitely better. I gulped down the mist, feeling more fulfilled and whole than I have ever been. My void filled.

I was…. feeding. Like…. a dementor.

With that realization, my eyes snapped wide in shock. Covering my mouth with one hand, I hastily scattered the silver mist with my other hand. The mist scattered instantly, with no trace of it having ever existed at all. I gagged slightly, hunching over in shock over what had just happened. After a few seconds, I stumbled on my feet and ran out of the dungeon.

* * *

"So she attacked you once she saw you were here and you subdued her with a stunner?" Slughorn asked as a blanket, directed by Slughorn's wand, wrapped around Marietta Edgecombe, who was still unconscious.

"Yes sir." I responded tersely. After leaving the dungeon, I had sprinted directly to Slughorn's office, stopping only to splash water on my face in the nearest sink. "Although I should add that she was dueling in a particularly wild fashion, so I suppose that she was acting out of fear."

"No doubt she was." Slughorn concluded, while looking into the pouch that Marietta was grasping in her off hand. "Judging from the ingredients she stole, she must've believed that some variation of the polyjuice potion would have cured her of her… facial scarring. Foolish girl, that would have never worked. She only needed to ask me." Slughorn shook his head sadly.

"So…" I asked, cautiously. "What's gonna happen to her?"

"I suppose I'll have to give her detention, after she wakes up in the hospital wing. Some punishment severe enough to placate the Carrows." Slughorn heaved a weary sigh, before twisting his head around to wink at me. "I suppose I should thank you, Ormod m'boy, for fetching me first. Do you feel interested in joining me and a few other friends for dinner in, say… a week or two later? Let me show my thanks in hospitality." I paused, thinking.

 _Slughorn is quite an influential man, both under the Dark Lord and under anyone else… And members of his 'Slug Club' are not to be underestimated either…_

"I would be delighted, professor." I answered with a slight smile. Slughorn released a hearty laugh.

"Wonderful, m'boy! Now, I'll have to escort Ms Edgecombe to the hospital wing. Don't stay out too late, m'boy…" Twirling his wand, Edgecombe's unconscious body floated up and followed Slughorn as he left the dungeons. Once he disappeared, I sunk into a wooden chair, mentally exhausted.

Slughorn didn't suspect a thing. Marietta Edgecombe was unconscious, and all of her injuries can be explained away as the side effect of taking three simultaneous stunners. She won't remember a thing once she wakes up, only traces of a nightmare. There was not a single trace of my actions left over… except for the warmth coursing through my veins, and the sated void sitting in my stomach, screaming testimonies to what I had done and what I have become.

" _Would you continue to starve yourself and complete the metamorphosis? Or would you start draining your peers of their happiness like a dementor, just to preserve your token humanity?"_ That was the question that Scar left me with. The answer seemed to have come far sooner than I expected.

I am a dementor. A human dementor.

* * *

A/N: Yeah, I know I was gone for a long time. Lost interest in this story that was only piqued again when I got another favorite and follow. So if any of you guys want this story updated consistently, please review! Feedback fuels my fire! :D


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